


Heartboxes

by sakon



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakon/pseuds/sakon
Summary: Guillermo stays at Nandor's coffinside.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Heartboxes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nokomis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/gifts).



> For tropes that encourage intimacy. I hope you enjoy! It's my first time writing What We Do In The Shadows (TV) tbh. (It's because of your sign-up! Originally, I signed up to do Bill & Ted, but somehow I ended up watching a new show.) 
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

Busy away with errands and at his request to check the computer, Guillermo leaves Nandor with 'the device' to check correspondence and emails. And when he comes back, just as last time, his Master seems perturbed, and Guillermo, a fast learner, is not surprised. There's a chance that the email thing has happened again, so he waits in silence.

As expected, the silence never seems to last long when his guesses are right. Nandor the Relentless encountered some electronic demon or something of that sort with no factual basis in life. Then, Guillermo is right; Nandor the Relentless seems to want someone at his coffin side. But Nandor doesn't need to command him this time; Guillermo knows to simply not snuff out the candles and wait for the look to confirm or for some nonsensical thing to spout from Nandor. The nonsensical things do come.

"We got a curse from your lightbox - a _wicked_ one." Nandor utters as he paces around the coffin. Guillermo's brows raise as his Master takes a turn right, then left, then pausing in front of him. 

Nandor pauses, peering down into Guillermo's eyes, "From a one zero-ninety-seven _blowflies of the east at Hotmales.com."_

Guillermo blinks, and realization dawns on him. What a unique name for a spam account, though. Hotmail? He hasn't heard that email service in a while. 

Biting his tongue, he stifles the tickle of a laugh in his chest. Sure, Guillermo finds it amusing, but when he sees things amusing, his cheeks flush proudly, a pink sheen over his chubby cheeks with baby fat that hasn't faded since high school, so he doesn't laugh. (He at least _tries_ not to.) He puffs air through his nose in amusement and instinct and instead takes a step closer.

How fitting of his Master to make that mistake.

Nandor's eyes merely move, and it's at times like these that he seems more vampiric; he's clearly befitting of the imposing moniker of 'The Relentless' when his aura seems to follow the name. Nandor, _bold voyager._

But... how befitting of his Master to make that mistake.

"Master, that's chain mail." Guillermo says and lifts a hand to try and quell the tangent, but his Master seems not to notice. If he does, he certainly doesn't care as per usual. 

"It protects itself?! It has a physical form now—?" 

"No Master, it's 'chain mail' not chainmail. It's like, a term, not an armor or anything. It's an email that gets sent around for fun or to scare gullible people." Guillermo drones softly against Nandor's strong, stilted speak.

"What about that 'Chain Mell—'," Nandor the Relentless says, voice dropping, "You must be an expert..."

Guillermo doesn't try with that one. It's the closest he'll get. 

"It's _not real..._ " He'd say and explain if he weren't already tired and needing to get his Master into rest. 

"I'm a bit of a one, I guess." Guillermo mutters softly. Born in the technological age, Guillermo is technically an expert when it came down to the raw meat and bones of it. Technically, he is, but there's less time to speak of it. 

Nandor grins hard at this. 

"I got rid of it, then. I spread the curse to ten people. Proper way, right, curse boy?" Nandor nods, and Guillermo nods. 

"What did it say and what did you do?" Guillermo asks, noting how Nandor's pacing has finally stopped. 

" _A curse of evil has been bestowed upon you! If you do not share this, then your loved ones will perish... the very things you love will leave your eyes! DO so TEN times lest you be an ignorant fool!"_ Nandor quotes, voice rising and falling rapidly. His hand finally lingers on his coffin as though he's contemplating rest. "Very scary. Your machine nearly killed us." 

Then, Nandor tacks on, "I sent it to ten of my enemies and Colin Robinson."

Guillermo nods, ignoring the choice last words. "You banished it. If it said ten, then it's ten, Master." 

"Good." That is all Nandor says as he rubs the lining of his casket, taking pleasure in the wonders of fur. He must be tired, and Guillermo can't blame him for that; he is too. 

Stifling a yawn behind a closed fist, Guillermo watches him. "Do you want me to blow out your candles and leave or...?" 

A soft silence blankets them, and Guillermo waits for the preoccupied Nandor to reply. 

"No. Guillermo, stay." Is all Nandor needs to say, and that's all he _does_ speak to keep Guillermo affixed in the same position. 

Nandor doesn't fear trivial things, but curses are no joke. Even the promise of a curse is nothing to scoff at. Curses have shriveled people's livelihoods-- their nuts, their homes, their riches, fortunes, and even lives. One does not survive so long being a fool. (Unfortunately, Guillermo thinks Nandor hasn't got the memo on who he is.)

When Guillermo was younger, plump and round and even shyer, he'd puke from the fears. Ultimately, that's what got him over most of them when the stains couldn't be washed out anymore, but now... well, fear isn't but a memory, but the simple ones are. Guillermo sighs in relief. Though he's dutiful and does what they request, puke is more pungent than blood. And in the off chance that a fleck flies in his mouth when cleaning, he'd rather the droplet be blood than puke. Thankfully, Nandor hasn't puked and hasn't no reason to. Vampires are more durable than humans in almost every way. 

Nandor is clearly. Guillermo, in fact, almost gets the fear.

Even in his softest of fears, Nandor stares ahead relentlessly. Nandor was a conqueror in the past, not merely a vampire living in a flat, and the features of his Iranian remind him gently. 

"Yes, Master. Sorry," Guillermo tilts his head, apologetically, "I'll stay." 

"Good." Nandor says, then blinks, tilting his head curiously, "You sound _Cana-dian_ when you apologize, Guillermo." 

"Canadian, master."

"Cana-dian." Nandor repeats, and Guillermo acquiesces with a sigh. 

"Your coffin is awaiting. You should rest." Guillermo instead says, with a gesture to the fur-lined coffin. 

Nandor climbs into the casket, skin as cold as ever. It wouldn't work if Nandor wasn't tired; Nandor never relents. 

"Everything alright, Master?" Guillermo asks, staring down at the coffin to watch the man fade into the casket as he pulls down the lid. 

"Everything is fine, Guillermo." He utters, and Guillermo walks over to check it for holes and gaps in light. 

His fingers brush the lid, and something warm sits in his chest; he feels awfully alive and human, and it's a heartbeatless vampire drawing such reactions. Warmth lingers on his fingers, on Guillermo's skin. It stays as the light drops over the coffin, and his fingers drop over it, something deep within his chest as warm as the candlelight reflecting onto his hands. Falling into the chair at the desk side, candlelight flickering yellow across Nandor's coffin, Guillermo watches the coffin, and in turn, the moment of vulnerability. 


End file.
